


The Plan B Team

by GoldStarGrl



Category: Veep
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Drunkenness, F/M, M/M, Pining, Political Alliances, Vague OT3 I Guess?, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStarGrl/pseuds/GoldStarGrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy and Dan are getting married. Jonah is attending.</p><p>Because what the hell else are they supposed to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plan B Team

**Author's Note:**

> My dear friend Gina made a kick-ass graphic to go with this fic. Thank you so much darling.  
> http://bitemesweetbaby.tumblr.com/post/119401056588/the-plan-b-team-a-collage-for-my-friends-lovely

Amy's Plan A worked out fairly well.

Go to an acclaimed university, one of the Seven Sisters or an Ivy. Lose her virginity before she turned twenty-one. Graduate with honors. Get snapped up as a senator's second in command by the time she was twenty-five. Follow that senator all the way to the White House. Wait five years. Marry a handsome and malleable man. Run for the house. Run for Senate. Run for president. Win. Serve eight years. Go down in history as someone worth a damn. 

She went to American University because they gave her the most money and she lost her virginity when she was twenty-three and she didn't follow Senator Selina Meyer to the White House so much as the EEOB and it was a lot harder to win a seat in the House of Representatives if people thought you seemed "cold" and "barren". She meets Dan, and Dan isn't malleable, not as much as she would like, but he's very smart and has a beautiful smile and charmed four battleground states into turning the right color for her. People think he’s handsome and sweet and a much needed hot foil to her ice princess facade.

So she decides to marry him.

 

Dan's Plan A went okay, you know, more or less.

Get the hell out of Minoa, New York. Graduate summa cum laude from Harvard. Marry a cute little reporter or lobbyist who will strategically pop out three kids - two boys and a girl - when he gives the signal. Work as the director of communications for great men and women, establish himself as a great orator, like Kennedy or Obama or the Roosevelts. Run for president at thirty-five to nearly unanimous approval. Win easily.

He graduated summa cum laude but it was from Cornell, not Harvard and he quickly found he'd much rather sleep with reporters and lobbyists than give them diamond rings. He is a director of communications but that seems to be all he can get hired to do, and he writes Barbara and Selina and eventually Amy killer stumps that turn red into blue and vise versa until the whole country is a purple mess under his thumb. He stands on stage while balloons rain down and Amy hoists his hand in the air in victory and realizes this tiny, angry blonde woman might be his only ticket out of the speech writing ghetto. 

So he decides to marry her.

 

Jonah’s Plan A was…not going as smoothly as he hoped.

Give Nashua and his stupid stepdad Mitch the fucking finger. Crush the college application process, eight for eight for League acceptances. Nail some sweet honeys. Get a sweet job with Uncle Jeff, and then bibbity fucking boppity, work his J-Dizzle magic, and he’d be in the White House, killing it three hundred and sixty five days a year for almost a decade.

He did okay at Dartmouth, _Cs get degrees_ becoming his motto and he only got laid on three occasions (by women at least) but he was tall and that seemed to gain traction every now and than. He cinched a bomb-ass gig at the White House, a few dozen rungs down the ladder from where he hoped he’d be at thirty-three, and he lost it almost as quickly. He bounced from idea to idea, fumbling boss to fumbling boss, bed to bed. He gets an embossed invitation formally inviting him to the wedding of Amy Brookheimer and Daniel Clifford Egan. Dan and Amy are getting married. Because of course they are. It’s just the next logical move on the DC chess board. And not showing up would damage his own pieces.

So he decides to go.

* * *

Amy wears a beautiful white dress that someone else picked out for her and that the gossip magazines have been disgustingly speculating about for days. It has a beaded bodice and a full skirt that cost over two thousand dollars, a fact which her dutiful fiancée is quick to hush up. Delicate jewels are tied around her neck and stabbed through her ears and her mother cries, partially out of relief. She refreshes her email fifty times while Sue, her de facto maid of honor, lifts her feet and straps her into her heels.

 

Dan digs up a slightly bewildered Mike to serve as his best man and rents a tuxedo with a price tag that could feed Lithuania. His parents fly his siblings and nieces down for the ceremony without asking him and his dad keeps clapping his shoulder. He writes a charming and heartwarming set of vows that he robotically memorizes on the ride to the church and it takes almost twice the recommended dose of Xanax before he can make himself step out of the car.

 

Jonah wakes up at cranky at five that morning and plays video games until the last possible second, then throws on his funeral suit and catches a cab. He takes sips of a Mountain Dew-Schnapps cocktail from his Borat themed flask and yells something rude and vaguely racist when his taxi driver compliments his tie and asks him if today is a big day.

* * *

The ceremony is quick and relatively painless, everyone walking and standing and handing off rings when they’re supposed to, and before anyone is ready or can do anything to stop it a pastor is using the power vested in him by the District of Columbia and you may kiss the bride.

 

Amy was raised Protestant, like forty-three of the presidents before her, and clings to Dan’s face as he kisses her, pleased that she'd insisted on a wedding under her church's mandates, deciding in was the right choice given how proper and politically wise the ceremony had gone. Her husband dips her and she digs her fingers in a little deeper, a forced giggle escaping in between their teeth.

 

Dan was raised Roman Catholic, and it’s not like he cares, today is the first time he’s been in a church since 1998, but he can’t help feeling a little guilty bending to his wife's wishes and snubbing JFK, the original charistmatic Catholic, the only one who made it to the White House. He kisses Amy hard, dipping her in his arms while reminding himself he was still the man.

 

Jonah hadn’t ever fully been given a religion, but he knew Amy had the right idea systematically, going Prot. He tried to focus on how much he enjoyed seeing Dan get emasculated as he kissed her, his arms wrapped under her as their families clapped and cheered. Whenever he felt himself focusing on Dan’s warm hands or Amy’s graceful neck he took another swig from his flask.  

* * *

The reception starts when the four piece band, (their second choice because the first one cancelled after their base player killed himself, which the bride thought was entirely unprofessional), take up their instruments and lead Mr. and Mrs. Egan onto the floor with a rendition of “At Last”, because that is the song people dance to at weddings.

 

Amy is a little stiff, her fingers clenched in a strange kind of fist on top of Dan’s shoulder. When photographed, she shows too much teeth, like she’s a wolf in pain.

 

Dan is all eyelashes and grins, but a careful observer can see him drumming his fingers against the base of Amy's waist, trying to beat the anxiety out of his body.

 

Jonah gets turned down by three of Dan’s pretty cousins and thinks about the time he made out with a bored and slightly drunk Amy while she watched C-Span and checked her text messages. She smelled like cheap powdery deodorant. 

* * *

The cake, a three layered vanilla number that neither bride nor groom wants to eat because the groom hates frosting and God Forbid a female in the public eye gain any weight, is rolled out.

 

Amy pries the knife out of her new husband’s hands to cut both pieces more quickly, a move that would’ve been imperceptible if the wedding was taking place anywhere but Washington DC.

 

Dan holds the square of doughy cake and white frosting too close to his new wife’s mouth and gets some stuck to her face, pushing a little too forcefully.

 

Jonah has some of the cookies being passed around on platters, and thinks about the curve of Dan’s spine, what it looked like when he pressed his hands down on it, fucking him from behind in a dark office during a drunken Inaugural Ball haze.

* * *

The car is pulled around and the happy couple is pushed into their limo, headed to their five-day politically inoffensive honeymoon in Hawaii, and the aunts and cousins and distant friends all smirk, all wink at them knowingly. Someone shouts not to have too much fun as they drive down the street towards their flight, their hotel room, the future. The whole world knows what happens at the end of a wedding.

 

Amy stares up at the ceiling of the Walden suite, her white skirts and petticoats hiked up to her thighs, as Dan thrusts in and out of her, taking deep, steadying breaths to keep herself focused on something else, running over the list of meetings she needs to reschedule and the people she needs to see, the hands she needs to shake and kiss after she’s done with this one.

 

Dan presses his hands into the mattress on either side of Amy’s head as he pushes inside her, looking down at the tops of her pale breasts, her shapely thighs, anywhere but at her face, because than he might feel something wrong, something too little or too intense or nothing at all, and he can’t risk that. He focuses on the sex, how good the physical act of fucking Amy Brookheimer feels, and unsuccessfully attempts to make his racing, cold, calculated thoughts just _shut up_ for five fucking minutes, just _let him get a grip._

 

Jonah goes home to a dark bed and falls asleep on his couch instead, one shoe kicked off. He dreams about half-assed kisses and sweaty backs and cars that drive away, onto bigger and better things. He wakes up with bile in his throat and barely makes it to the bathroom before throwing up four glasses of champagne and chocolate cookies on the linoleum floor. He claps one hand over his stinging eyes and paws around for his tee-shirt to mop up the mess with.

* * *

Amy takes a shower in the suite bathroom and reads the tweets coming in - #CongratsDanAndAmy #AmericanRoyalWedding #Clintons2.0 - and finds out her approval ratings have jumped 23%. She leans her forehead against the steamed up mirror, stringy blonde hair falling in her eyes, smirking a little.  _This is worth it._ She tells herself.  _This will work._

 

Dan pulls on a tee-shirt, staring at the closed bathroom door, behind which is his wife who doesn’t like sex or him particularly much. But from a PR standpoint, they’re untouchable. And they’re hot and young and maybe he can get a little blonde baby or two out of this, if he plays his cards and condom use right.  _This is manageable_. He tells himself.  _I can make this work._

 

Jonah throws the mucked-up and soggy shirt into the bathtub and leans his sweaty head against the cool porcelain edge of the toilet bowl. Screw those two. They were too short and too serious anyway. He’d pop some Advil and put on his kick-ass-and-take-names sweater vest and tomorrow he’d find new targets to manipulate.  _This ain’t nothing but a minor setback, Double-J-Rizzle._ He tells himself. _I gotta get back to work._


End file.
